


take my heart slowly out of me

by johnny-and-dora (sian_jpg)



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, One-Shot, Pining, Post-Season/Series 04, basically takes place immeadiately after crime and punishment aka the hell episode, post s4 angst for the soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 11:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12189099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian_jpg/pseuds/johnny-and-dora
Summary: "She’ll have to go home eventually. She’ll have to change her clothes, eventually.Eventually, she just might have to accept that he’s gone, again, for what may as well be an eternity; and she doesn’t even have Rosa here this time to anchor her to what little hope she has left to give. If there’s any left at all."in which home isn't home when jake's not there, and at her lowest of low amy finds something unexpected in his bottom left drawer.(post s4 finale)





	take my heart slowly out of me

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'overgrown' by oh wonder (which is a certified bop)  
> a quick note: this fic is partly inspired by the incredible pontiac bandit (@dogworldchampion) carrie's fic _bury my heart on the coals_ , which i absolutely adore. i was so inspired by the way she so wonderfully gave amy this kind of vulnerability that we never really get to see on the show, so i wrote this and put my own twist on it - hope you enjoy!

After the trial, Amy doesn’t go home for three days.

It’s not like anyone’s really surprised. There’s a million and one valid excuses she could make up as to why she can’t bring herself anywhere near _their_ apartment - but as a detective she only deals with cold hard facts, and however cold and hard it leaves her, the truth is simple.

It’s not home without him there, and it never will be. 

If she goes home now, she just knows that the first crumpled up plaid shirt she sees will hit her like a punch in the gut – and as the last frayed strands of her hope leave her desperately clinging to denial, she just can’t bear the thought of coming home when she knows her real home is locked up in the Brooklyn Metropolitan Detention Centre for god knows how long, and there’s absolutely nothing she can do about it.

So she gets into work ten minutes early, just like she does every morning, and tries to act like she got more than an hour of sleep last night. She sips coffee as she fills out her paperwork, and tries to ignore how everyone is treating her like a grenade that could blow at any second. 

And yeah, she gets it, the whole grenade thing. She appreciates that the squad care about her. She also appreciates that they let her cry in the break room. She appreciates that they don’t say anything about how she’s been wearing the same courtroom clothes for four days straight, and she really does appreciate it when Holt calls her into his office and she has to politely decline his offer to use his and Kevin’s spare room.

(She only declines because that’s meant to be a strictly Level 1 privilege, and definitely not because the thinly disguised weight of Holt’s concern in his words leaves a horrible lump in her throat and one of the first lessons in their mentor-ship was that displays of intense emotion are highly inappropriate in the workplace.) 

(And definitely, positively, absolutely not because she can’t get a raw fragment of memory, an all too familiar voice saying _“Wasn’t that where you wanted to spend your honeymoon?”_ out of her stupid head. She can’t help yearning for another day long gone like that one, one that feels like an entire lifetime away now.)  
(She can’t stop yearning for him, and it _burns_.)

They understand. Of course they do, everyone in this weird little family they’ve accidentally created understands – only two of them are sentenced, sure, but all of them have a cacophony of _guiltyguiltyguilty_ reverberating around their heads, all of them have _fifteen years in prison for a crime they didn’t commit_ sharply digging into their wrists even if only two of them are wearing handcuffs.

The Nine-Nine (or what’s left of them, anyway) understand why she can’t go home, why she’s been wearing the same courtroom clothes for days on end, why the cold empty abyss in the darkest pit of her stomach hurts so, so badly that she doesn’t know if it’ll ever stop.

They understand why her voice sounds so strained and tears spill so easily especially when she’s so harshly exposed to a discarded pair of sneakers, sour candy or anything that could be perceived as a Die Hard reference - they know because they all feel it too.

So Terry and Sharon give up their camp bed for a night, and Charles and Genevieve give up their sofa for another two. And she’s always gone in the morning before Nikolaj can ask what’s wrong (because his uncle and aunt are away on top secret important police business, but he’ll see them again very soon) and she’s always at her desk far too early, trying to do anything but notice how glaringly, numbingly empty the desk in front of her and the desk to the left of her is. 

She’ll have to go home eventually. She’ll have to change her clothes, eventually.  
Eventually, she just might have to accept that he’s gone, _again_ , for what may as well be an eternity; and she doesn’t even have Rosa here this time to anchor her to what little hope she has left to give. If there’s any left at all.

So she doesn’t go home for three days, because it’s not home anymore, and for three whole days, everyone understands, and gives her careful concerned looks, and the denial she’s so desperately clinging on to as her last lifeline just about holds her weight.

And as Gina finally insists on driving her home so she can finally get out of those courtroom clothes and as Amy quietly but firmly insists that she needs to be alone, she finally, finally, brings herself here. Her heart gets heavier and heavier as she hovers with gentle yet clawing uncertainty outside her own front doorstep and realises that she’s walking her lifeline like a tightrope.

She closes her eyes and turns the key in its lock – and as it twists in her stomach like it twists in the door, she takes a deep, shuddering breath and lets go. 

It’s almost immediately unbearable, too vacant, and too cold – and the silence only makes her more vunerable as she has no choice but to let the tears spill openly from her cheeks. She shivers, and another raw, insignificant yet stupidly important moment hitting her like a slap - 

_\- and Jake’s here, that stupid goofy grin she loves so much plastered on his face, laughing at her as she buries herself in blankets. He takes one from her and wears it proudly around his shoulders as a cape, dancing around as he puts on whatever random movie he’s chosen that neither of them are planning to pay much attention to. She grabs hold of the blanket and sharply tugs on it, catching him off guard and sending him crashing down onto the couch next to her. They both laugh as she snuggles into his shoulder, Jake gently squeezing her hand and making a face._

_“How can you be this cold with all those blankets? You’re like a walking iceberg. The captain of the Titanic would be terrified of you.”_

_“Shut up, weirdo. You’re my blanket now.” She says, muffled, still nuzzled into him as he starts the movie, still grinning, arm lazily slung around her shoulders._

_“Can’t argue with that.”_

The couch is still laden with a fort’s worth of neatly folded blankets and perfectly plumped cushions, but it still looks too empty. It’s the first thing she notices, really, and everything after that is an attack on all of her senses, like a million tiny knives pinpricking every inch of her body. She can’t be more than a couple steps into the hallway when the walls almost seem to close in on her and become an altogether very different kind of prison. 

_Not here. Not now._ Her vision starts to swim a little as her breathing becomes more and more desperately erratic and her balance takes a knock – now even her air is being taken from her. Amy grabs for something, _anything_ to steady herself with, and in another universe (one that isn’t so unbearably apathetic to the aching loss she can feel tightening her chest), strong arms wrap around her and gently guide her back down to earth, kissing the top of her head and whispering reassurance in her ear. 

Without him here to hold her close, she’s crashing at full force, and the hollow barrenness of the apartment she’s meant to call home only reminds her that she has never felt more alone.

_“It’s okay, Ames. I’ve got you, you’re okay, everything’s okay, I love you.” Jake whispers it quietly, over and over again, engulfing her in a firm but warm hug, stroking her hair for what feels like forever until her breathing finally evens out and her tears finally dry up. They stay, carefully intertwined on the floor, riding out the storm until she can barely even remember what she was so upset about._

_“It’s like always.” He says afterwards, when they’re climbing into bed and Amy quietly thanks him for calming down her spiral and anchoring her back to common sense._

_“Jake and Amy against the universe. Oh man, that would make a great movie. I would watch the hell out of that - should we make that a movie?”  
She laughs at him, shaking her head fondly and pulling him close._

Eventually, though she can’t quite remember how, she finds herself in their bedroom, tears still staining her cheeks. She stares absent-mindedly at the Die Hard poster hung so proudly on the wall as if it’ll somehow bring him back to her (a habit, the detective in her notices, that she picked up during Florida when that was the worst the universe could do to prise them apart. She almost misses it.)

After her overwhelming heart-breaking despair gradually ebbs away into a gentle and more manageable numbness, Amy finally stands from the half-made bed she’s been curled up on for what already seems like an eternity, as if her grief and longing has already aged her by fifteen years in a matter of days. She slowly pads into the bathroom, feeling a horrible lethargic detachment from her body as she, almost robotically, begins to peel her courtroom clothes off, pulling her hair from its too tight ponytail and letting it lazily fall into her face. 

And while the cold empty air is icy to her vulnerable skin, she suddenly feels a feather lighter- lighter than she has allowed herself to be for a single second since the trial. She steps into the shower, exhaling a quiet catharsis with every deep breath. She lets the hot water cascade over her, hoping it’ll spark even the slightest feeling in her limbs and somehow make her feel human again. Hoping she won’t feel this fragile, like she’ll crack in two or break into pieces if someone so much as touches her. 

(It doesn’t work, but she doesn’t stop hoping anyway.)

The first thing she notices when she steps out of the shower and wraps herself up in a warm soft towel is the absence of his barely intelligible scrawls on the steam-covered mirror – it feels so strange to not see the little messages and doodles he so often likes to leave for her that she’s so fond of receiving. Tiny declarations of _“jeopardy started already but don’t worry i’m recording it”_ or _“we’re out of orange soda”_ or _“i love you”_. 

Now they’re just another thing she didn’t even realise that she’d miss.

She cleans the mirror half-heartedly with her hand and stares at her reflection for a while, trying to recognise the broken, tired woman who’s staring back at her. Eventually she gives up, traipsing back to the bedroom, using what little drive she has left to pull on her favourite pyjamas and root through his drawers to find his favourite sweater. And everything in her body aches, and she’s grief-stricken and desperately numb all at once, but it’s just about manageable; she can just about hold herself together.

That is, until she find said sweater haphazardly crumpled in the bottom corner of the very bottom drawer – and, upon picking it up and pulling it over her body, discovers that it’s covering something that sends a spike of adrenaline speared through her chest. 

Something that’s the last thing she was expecting to be so gently nestled away there and something that’s arguably the last thing she needs to see right now.

Something that just so happens to be a little black velvet box that sends her stomach plummeting to the floor.

And suddenly, for the second time in a week, Amy’s world comes crashing down around her.  
Suddenly, _Paris or London or Rome_ makes so much more sense, and suddenly her eyes are widening and her ears are ringing and the sickness rising in her stomach is almost overpowering and everything is too loud and bright and _wrong_.

He’s – _he was_ – going to propose to her. 

She grabs the box and holds it up as if she’s making sure it’s actually real and not some sick hallucination her exhausted brain has come up with as a makeshift twisted coping mechanism, but its weight in her hands means it has to be an actual object, and Amy stares at it with such intensity that it swims before her eyes.

Cautiously, she flips it open, gasping a little as she sees the beautiful gold ring inside, almost laughing as she remembers the stupid plastic one she still has in her top drawer, yet another memory that seems like a lifetime ago. 

(She thinks that if you told Amy Santiago on that night that one day Jake Peralta would be proposing to her for real, she probably would have laughed nervously before screaming and running away. Now she definitely wants to scream, but only because he’s not here to scream and laugh and dance goofily with her.)

She thinks about the stupid, wonderful bet that started everything for so long it takes her a minute to notice the neatly folded square paper lying behind the ring. It only now occurs to her that what she’s doing is wrong – obviously, she’s pretty sure this ring is meant for her, but god knows how long he’s had it for, and god knows when he’s going to get to give it to her. She knows her answer, immediately, but whatever’s written on that paper isn’t meant for a day like this. The ring, the little black box, everything – this is all wrong. This isn’t how it’s meant to be.

She snaps the box shut quickly and slides it across the room as if it’s burning hot to the touch, taking a long drawn out breath. Amy puts her head in her hands and stays like that for minutes that seem to last centuries, her heart racing.

This isn’t fair. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

She really shouldn’t read what’s inside that piece of paper, because he should be the one giving her that box in the first place. She should leave it alone until he comes back to her. 

But, she reasons, as she grabs the box and flips it open again, she’s so desperate for even the tiniest piece of him that she can’t bring herself to care. 

She slowly unfurls the paper, trying to ignore how much her hands are shaking, and immediately begins trying to decipher Jake’s handwriting, absentmindedly making note that he’d somehow managed to get hold of that brand new gel pen set she thought she’d hidden well enough from him. Her brain kicks into gear after a second, though, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest, and she soon realises she’s reading a letter, _a letter for her_ , scrawled so carefully in glittering bright blue - 

_Amy,  
Seeing as you’re one of the best detectives in the entire universe, I figured you’d probably end up finding this sooner or later – and I also figured if you ever did, you deserved an explanation as to why this ring is here and not currently on your finger._

_I bought this a couple weeks ago now and yeah, it’s a pretty big factor of the whole crushing debt thang I’ve got going on, sorry babe (you know you’re pretty much all of my impulse control and I couldn’t exactly ask for your help on this one). Honestly, I don’t really know what made me do it, I just...kept walking past this one store, and thinking about how I love you, so much – and I really want to spend the rest of my life with you._

_I know we’ve never really talked about getting married, and after everything that happened with Rosa and Pimento the last thing I want to do is rush into anything. I know I’m super broke, and I know marriage isn’t in our life calendar, and I know the universe will probably find a way to make sure our wedding is the most organised disaster of all time – but I don’t care about any of that crap. I just care about being with you, and making you happy, Ames._

_Basically, I really wanna be your husband. Romantic stylez, if you’d be up for that? I know you still have that stupid cheap plastic ring I got for you on the night of our bet (which is super cute by the way, you had such an adorable crush on me) and I guess now I want to give you the real thing <3_

_And that brings us here. The trial is in a few weeks, and honestly? I wish I could say that I knew everything was going to turn out fine, but if you’re reading this then...well, I want you to know that I love you, so much, and that whatever happens I know me and Rosa are going to be okay. You’re always gonna be my knight in a shining pantsuit of armour, and I know you’ll do everything you can to get us home.  
Jake and Amy against the universe, right?_

_Anyway, you’ll probably be home soon so I better hide this – just try to act surprised when I finally do ask? Okay? You’re the best x_  
Love from your super cool boyfriend (soon to be fiancé???),  
Jake xxx 

She notices the drops of water hitting the paper before she notices that she’s crying again and quickly pats it dry with the sweater sleeve, her first instinct being to keep the paper as pristine as possible. 

Her second instinct, incidentally, is to laugh and cry at the same time - because he loves her, and he wants to spend the rest of his life with her, and suddenly the white dresses that have been catching her eye more and more often lately don’t seem so ridiculous after all. _He’s going to propose to her._

For a minute the sheer amount of Jake that’s practically radiating from the letter seems to brighten up the apartment, everything from the bright blue pen smudges to the countless grammar mistakes.

For a minute, it’s almost enough to bring him home, before she rereads the last paragraph again and is brutally brought back down to earth.

In another universe, maybe she’s already wearing this ring, or it’s only a matter of time before he finally gets to pop the question; but now all she’s left with is a box and a gaping hole in her heart where he should be.  
But strangely, that doesn’t seem to matter as much anymore. 

Even a couple of hours ago, the cold hard reality of not being able to feel his touch on her skin would have probably shattered her into a million tiny pieces, and that was without this box firmly rooting it’s way into her unbelievable disaster of a life – but, inexplicably, now, something has changed. She feels herself harden instead of break, as if she’s finally waking up. Because now, she has a purpose.

He’s counting on her to fight for him.

_“I’ll wait for you. And I’ll keep fighting for you, and so will everyone at the Nine-Nine. We’ll do whatever it takes.” She says, keeping her eyes firmly trained on Jake almost as if she’s afraid he might disappear if she looks away. She has more in her, so much more - a million heartfelt speeches and desperate reassurances and promises she knows she might not be able to keep - but they die in her throat when she sees the look on his face. A vulnerable, helpless look she’s seen more and more often in the past two months and one she never wants to see again._

_“I love you.” It’s the only certainty in both their lives that she can offer him right now, and yet the small, subdued smile that he gives her as she says it is more than enough to spark just the tiniest glimmer of hope that they might get to go to Paris after all._

_“I love you.” He says back, even though they both know he doesn’t need to. And for a shining, infinitesimally small moment, everything just might be okay._

It takes the sharp, vivid spark of this memory for her to realise she still means every word of what she said that day; even if it feels like it happened a million years ago, in a different universe, in a different lifetime. She means all of it, especially after this – and it finally, finally feels like she’s got some air knocked back into her lungs, like the world really isn’t going end, like she’s not so fragile won’t fracture into pieces if someone tries to touch her. She finally feels just the tiniest bit like herself again.

Amy finally feels like she’s going to get him home.

She carefully folds the paper back up and snaps the little black box shut with a new blazing fire filling up some of the void in the pit of her stomach. Placing it exactly back where she found it and making sure not a thing is out of place, she slowly closes the drawer and exhales heavily, hugging her knees to her chest. Despite everything, Amy’s unable to stop the tiniest of smiles from breaking out on her face; just indulging in one moment of relief.

They’re going to be okay. 

The apartment is still too cold, and it still could never be home without him – without Jake – here. Yes, her real home (and most of her heart) is locked up in the Brooklyn Metropolitan Detention Centre for god knows how long – but there’s one thing she’s got wrong. There’s one thing that she’s pretty sure Hawkins never accounted for, and one thing that just might be her first (and last) mistake.

There is something she can do about it. She – and the rest of the squad, for that matter – isn’t going to stop until her scary badass best friend and her dork of a boyfriend can come home, and Hawkins can be damn well sure they’ll do whatever it takes. 

They won’t go down without a fight. They never have, and they never will.

Now that she has some sense of purpose again, she’s dialling the number before she can fully register what her hands are doing, and pressing call before she can stop to think about it. He picks up on the second ring.

“Detective Santiago? Is...everything alright?” It takes her an embarrassingly long second before she remembers she has to talk back, and she clears her throat a little, taking another deep breath and desperately trying to ignore the gentle concern in his tone.

“Captain, yes, hello, I just...I wanted to know if you’ve made a start on – on Jake and Rosa’s appeal. I want in, I...I need to...be doing something, I can’t just...” She trails off lamely as she realises she has no idea what she actually needs to do. The fire currently bubbling inside her is enough to quietly motivate her, just enough to put some feeling back into her bones - but it seems she’s not quite ready for rational thought just yet. 

“It’s quite alright, Santiago. I understand – in fact, I’ve just been discussing possible arguments for appeal at my house with Sergeant Jeffords.”  
“You...you have?”  
“Indeed. I’m certain your input would be...greatly appreciated. You’re welcome to join us.”

Amy bites her lip, glancing at the clock that blinks a time that’s too late to be considered professional, and then the dark night skies outside the window. Her hair is still damp, she’s still wearing Jake’s old jumper and her comfiest pyjama pants, and she still feels like a grenade that could blow at any minute.

But then she glances at the Die Hard poster again, and the photos of them on the wall, and the life calendar above their bed which could never have planned for this. She takes one look at the amount of Jake that still permeates every corner of their apartment, and realises she’s not strong enough to last the night.

“Sir? Is...is your spare bedroom still available? I don’t think I can-“  
“Of course, Amy. Whatever you need.”  
“Thank you, Captain. I’ll be over in twenty minutes.” She ends the call and runs her hand through her hair, setting her internal conflict about his use of her first name aside. A framed photo of Jake beaming proudly on her dresser catches her eye for the first time since she got here, and at the sight of his dorky grin she can’t help but smile back.

She’s home, and he’s not, but that’s okay. They’ve made it through hell more than their fair share of times, and they will again.  
_Jake and Amy against the universe, right?_

She grabs a bag and packs enough essentials for one overnight stay. Taking one last deep breath, Amy blows a kiss to the photo frame before switching off the lights and shutting the door behind her. Whatever she has to do, however many breakdowns she has to have, whatever it takes – Jake is going to get to give her that ring.

Let the universe do its worst – because when he finally comes back to her, and _he will_ , they are _never_ being prised apart again.

**Author's Note:**

> the working title for this fic was "fine i didn't need my heart anyway" which is honestly accurate tbh  
> you guys. you GUYS. B99 IS BACK TOMORROW  
> i'm so excited and happy and i cannot wait to devour this whole new season ahhhh  
> hope you guys enjoyed reading this it got a lot more angstier than i originally intended but i think it turned out okay yeeeeeeeet  
> ahhhhhh come say hi over on my tumblr @johnny-and-dora <3


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